


Fringe Benefits

by Topicabo



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea (Sherlock) is the Best PA, Light Bondage, M/M, Not Beta Read, Not Britpicked, Office Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 08:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12031605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Topicabo/pseuds/Topicabo
Summary: A surprise meeting with an unexpected visitor.





	Fringe Benefits

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was born in the comment section of my story Round and Round. I wrote a impromptu dialogue while joking around with Lavender_and_Vanilla, which ultimately culminated with the line "OMG, FINE. Next time, I will write steamy office chair sex, OKAY?! Locked door, pants at the ankles, I'll even allow being bound to the chair as an option!"
> 
> And then I decided to write it. XD

Mycroft sensed something off-kilter the moment he exited the elevator. He glanced up from his phone with a frown, scanning the open space of cubicles. It was a Friday, with the steady drone of typing and soft voices filling the air. Since the gruelingly stressful situation with China had finally been wrapped up-the interim of which had seen him and the majority of his staff all but chained to their desks for little over two weeks-a more subdued atmosphere had descended upon the office.

 

Normal. Everyone where they should be, everything whirring along in the preferred, orderly fashion.

 

And yet…

 

He slowly walked to his office, brow pinched in puzzlement. As he approached Anthea’s desk, she looked up, giving a nod and one of her enigmatic smiles. With a huff, he stalked through his door, unnerved even further and now annoyed on top of it.

 

Distracted as he was, his ears registered the soft click of the door closing milliseconds slower than he should have. The sound of the electronic lock engaging quickly followed. He’d barely started to turn when fingers hooked over the edge of his jacket collar and tugged him backwards. He was shoved against the wood paneling with enough force to knock the cellphone from his grasp, but not enough to cause him any harm. He reflexively scrabbled to push himself upright. Again, too slow as both his wrists were seized and trapped against the door by his head. Blind instinct had him struggling in earnest the next second.

 

“Whoa, hey now. No need for that.”

 

Mycroft blinked, his body stilling in response to that familiar, husky tone.

 

“Gregory?”

 

A sharp little grin slipped into place over his captor’s features.

 

“Hello, Myc.”

 

Mycroft opened his mouth to voice his bewilderment, but Greg Lestrade was faster, kissing Mycroft in such a way that basic speech suddenly became a foreign concept.

 

Greg drew Mycroft’s arms down to his sides, using the length of his body to keep him restrained. Mycroft’s head thumped back against the door, the sudden drain of adrenaline jellifying his muscles. After two weeks of barely any contact with Greg besides short phone calls, he soaked in Greg’s touch as though he’d withered without it. The thought occurred that he ought to ask what in the world was going on, but forming words seemed so terribly difficult when Greg was sliding those warm, insistent lips down his jawline.

 

“Gregory, what…?” Mycroft faltered into a startled moan at the quick pinch of teeth on his neck.

 

“Yeah. I’ll be having more of that,” Greg said, his expression neatly wiping any protests right out of Mycroft’s head.

 

Dazed, Mycroft remained silent as he was led to the desk and pushed into his chair. Greg quickly straddled Mycroft with a teasing wiggle of his hips. Then they were kissing again, hard, the exquisite tangle of their tongues making Mycroft dizzy with arousal. He was dimly aware of fingers fumbling open his collar, and the soft rasp of fabric against fabric as his tie was yanked free.

 

Greg broke off long enough to growl, “Fuck yeah,” before dropping his mouth to Mycroft’s exposed throat and biting down. Mycroft cried out, arching against the cage of Greg’s body. Greg eased up a moment later, soothing the sting with slow strokes of his tongue. Shivers lanced through Mycroft at the reversal of pain to pleasure.

 

“Christ, just look at the state of you. Haven’t even been here five minutes either.” Greg inhaled along Mycroft’s skin; _breathing me in_ , Mycroft thought. His composure crumpled further, freeing the helpless whimper he hadn’t known he’d been suppressing.

 

“You want more? Want me to keep going?”

 

Mycroft swallowed, his head spinning. He managed a weak nod.

 

“Out loud, Myc. I need to hear it.”

 

Mycroft tried to smother down the second needy noise threatening to emerge. He only half succeeded. “Yes...”

 

A low purr resonated in Greg’s chest. “Mind if I try something new?” he asked.

 

“What-? What do you-?”

 

Greg shifted back. He held up Mycroft’s tie, wrapping the loose end around his free hand. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled the material taut.

 

“ _Oh.”_ The implication sizzled down Mycroft’s spine. He didn’t know the full extent of what Greg intended, given the man’s evident talent for being unpredictable. But the uncertainty just made the possible scenarios all the more delicious to imagine. “Oh, yes.” His voice shook. “Yes, Gregory…”

 

Greg smiled, pleased. He got to his feet, moving out of Mycroft’s view. Mycroft kept his eyes in front of him, every nerve in his body attuned to Greg’s presence. His breath hitched when warm palms curled over his shoulders.

 

“Hands behind the chair,” Greg whispered.

 

Mycroft nodded, folding his arms back until his wrists touched. His eyes fluttered shut as he felt his tie being looped over, around, and finally tightening along his skin. By the time Greg had secured Mycroft’s wrists together, he was openly trembling, his heart staccatoing under his ribcage.

 

“Myc.”

 

Mycroft reopened his eyes, blinking slowly. Greg was kneeling in front of him, his gaze hungry, possessive.

 

But beneath that, something else. Something achingly fond and gentle.

 

“Okay?”

 

Mycroft nodded again, his tremors quieting. Greg’s expression turned stern. A reminder.

 

Ah. Out loud, right.

 

“Yes.”

 

“How’re your arms?”

 

A quick test of his bonds showed them to be restricting, but not uncomfortable.

 

“They’re fine.”

 

“You’ll let me know if you want to get loose, yeah?”

 

Mycroft still had enough possession of his ingrained wryness to raise an eyebrow. “Well, obviously.”

 

Greg grinned. “Smart arse.” His eyes lowered. “You’re still a bit too put together, Mr. Holmes,” he said, pulling Mycroft’s jacket open. Deft fingers worked through the line of buttons on the waistcoat, then the shirt. They couldn’t be completely pulled off with Mycroft’s arms tied, but Greg didn't seem to mind. There was one spot of difficulty with the braces. But Greg was adaptable as well as persistent, opting to simply unfasten them from Mycroft’s waistband. Mycroft almost yelped in surprise when Greg divested him of both his trousers and undergarments with one decisive tug.

 

“There we are.” Greg nudged Mycroft’s knees apart and shuffled closer in-between his legs. He gave Mycroft a mischievous wink, then leaned in, nuzzling his face against the pale inner thigh. Mycroft made a sound like his oxygen was being siphoned away, his pulse ramping from trot to galloping speed.

 

Greg was relentless; one moment all warm lips and gentle licks, the next glancing nips and suction forceful enough to raise discoloured marks. Several times Greg’s mouth edged tantalisingly close to Mycroft’s prick, only for Greg to then change direction or switch to the other leg. Mycroft’s muscles quivered with tension, his breathing shifting into helpless moans. He stiffened as Greg traced a fingertip along his bollocks.

 

“Perfect.” Greg bent down and flicked his tongue over the tip of Mycroft’s cock before standing again, looking sympathetic to the dismayed whine that followed. He reached into his jeans pocket, holding Mycroft’s eyes as he pulled out a condom and a tiny packet of lube.

 

Mycroft drew in a shaking breath, hands clenching uselessly against his restraints. “ _Yes_ …”

 

Greg smirked, dark and approving. He set his supplies within easy grabbing distance on the desk and stripped from the waist down. The sight of Greg’s cock bobbing free from his trousers had Mycroft squirming with eagerness. Thankfully, from the expression on Greg’s face, he didn’t seem interested in teasing for much longer. He resettled over Mycroft’s lap, slotting their lower bodies together.

 

Mycroft only realised at that moment that Greg was trembling as well.

 

“God, you look so good like this.” Greg began rolling his hips, grunting softly as their erections glided against each other. “No suits, no put-ons.” Greg tugged Mycroft’s head back, watching his face contort in desperation. “Just you.”

 

“Please-“ Mycroft gasped and writhed. “Please, take me. I can’t- I won’t last-”

 

“Oh, Myc,” Greg said, amused in a way Mycroft didn’t understand. He lowered his lips to Mycroft’s ear, running his tongue over its curve. “Who said anything about me taking you?”

 

Mycroft stopped breathing for several seconds. Two point five, to be exact. But to be fair, there were few occasions in his life that he had ever been completely dumbstruck, and Greg had just managed a hat trick in record time.

 

He took in the proceeding events as though he were viewing them from outside of his body: the condom slipping over his length, lube drizzling onto Greg’s fingers, Greg shifting his hand behind his back and down towards his arse…

 

The first moan yanked Mycroft’s mind back into sharp attention. Greg’s free hand gripped into the armrest, his thigh muscles tensing. _It’s tighter than he was expecting,_ Mycroft thought, easily able to visualise all the details he couldn’t see.

 

Greg breathed in a slow, measured pattern, his hips rocking back again and again.

 

_With the movement of his hand, trying to push in as far as possible._

His brow furrowed, a rosy flush flaring in his cheeks.

_Christ, he’s already to three fingers._

When Greg’s back arched-mouth dropping open, a strained “Fuck…” gasped to the room-it was a response Mycroft was intimately familiar with. He’d been the cause of it on several occasions, and it never ceased to enthrall him.

 

Greg continued like that for a few endless minutes. His unoccupied hand, wet with the remaining lube, wrapped around Mycroft’s length, momentarily burning out the fuses in his brain. Mycroft’s hips lurched, but Greg just moved with him, slicking his cock with barely-there strokes.

 

“Steady,” Greg said, his voice sounding oddly distant. Greg’s mouth returned to his; hot, demanding. Mycroft submitted, the last holdout of his self-control finally dissolving away. He felt Greg shifting atop him, felt the tip of his cock prodding against Greg’s entrance. His eyes flew wide as Greg sank down onto him with one smooth motion. Greg broke the kiss, convulsing, bracing quivering hands on Mycroft’s shoulders.

 

“Fuck… Oh, fuck…”

 

A prickle of concern washed through Mycroft.

 

“Are you alright? Should we-?”

 

“M’ fine.” Greg panted unsteadily, his eyes squeezing shut. “M’ fine. Just… need a second.”

 

Mycroft waited, heart pounding. The intimacy of seeing Greg so vulnerable still startled him even after so many months together. His hands twitched with the desire to smooth away the tension pinching Greg’s face, to run gentle fingers over his brow and through his hair.

 

Greg stirred after a minute or so. His eyes reopened and locked onto Mycroft, a shaky smile crossing his features. He tried a little undulation of his pelvis that drew a moan from both of them. With a deep breath, he anchored his arms around Mycroft’s neck and shuddered.

 

“Fuck me, Myc. Make me feel it.”

 

Things ramped quickly from there. Mycroft’s initial thrusts were tentative, but he once saw Greg’s expression twist not with pain, but with desperation, he abandoned restraint. A remote part of his mind was immensely grateful he’d had his office well sound-proofed, otherwise the sounds Greg was making threatened to be heard all the way down in the basement levels.

 

“Myc-“ Greg ground down against Mycroft, angling to take him deeper. “Fuck, Myc!”

 

Mycroft’s pace was ruthless, jolting Greg upwards with each kick of his hips. Greg’s cries took on a frantic pitch, his fingers fisting into Mycroft’s hair almost to the point of pain. Mycroft could barely fathom the surrealism of what was happening; tied to a chair, stripped of his coveted control while Greg rode him within an inch of his sanity.

 

He knew the end was close when Greg snaked his hand around his cock and stroked in sync with him. Greg’s eyes went glassy and unfocused, his profanity-laced encouragement losing much of its coherency. Mycroft felt the feverish curl of his own climax low in his belly, shuddery and quickly climbing in intensity.  

 

Several more forceful thrusts and Greg’s internal muscles were contracting hard as he came, pulling Mycroft’s orgasm to the surface with shocking speed. His final shout was so loud the room seemed to reverberate with it even after he collapsed forward onto Mycroft, moaning nonsensically. Mycroft only needed to thrust once, twice more as Greg clenched around him, his mind going incandescent. Awareness shrank to a pinpoint, blurring out his other senses, leaving nothing but pleasure; sharp, sweet, overwhelming.

 

For one of the few times in his life, Mycroft momentarily blacked out.

 

He came back to himself slowly, floating in a hazy sea of endorphins. It felt good. Everything did, really; his thoughts blissfully quiet, his body all tingly and warm. He lacked the energy or motivation to attempt moving, so he simply breathed, concerned about nothing as he waited for his brain to drift back to him.

 

Greg was slumped against Mycroft’s chest, the weight of him heavy, but not unpleasant. He twitched every so often as he took in his own bone-deep breaths. Mycroft cleared his throat and Greg shifted, gingerly lifting himself up. Mycroft’s stomach did an odd little shimmy at the soft, wobbly look in Greg’s eyes.

 

“Hey,” Greg said, his voice hoarse.

 

“Hello.” Mycroft’s own voice rasped as well. He swallowed, trying again. “I- That was-“

 

“Yeah.” Greg touched his fingers to Mycroft’s mouth, tracing the seam of his lips. “Sent you to the moon, did I?”

 

“I think I’m still there,” Mycroft whispered, a disconcerting, weightless sensation swelling inside him, seeming too large for the space it was occupying.

 

Oddly enough, he rather liked it.

 

Greg smiled, understanding. He reached around to untie Mycroft’s hands, pressing kisses where the material had chafed his wrists. “Come on. Let’s get cleaned up. Then I’m taking you to mine.”

 

Mycroft frowned. “But, I can’t- I have a meeting at five, and contracts to go over.”

 

Humming contentedly, Greg mouthed at Mycroft’s pulse point. “Actually, pretty sure you’re free for the rest of the weekend.”

 

“How-?” Suddenly, several details fell into place; the fact that since entering his office, he’d had no calls, no one had accidentally come in to interrupt them, and that Anthea just happened to have access to the control that could remotely lock his door. Mycroft raised an accusing eyebrow at Greg. “You’ve been conspiring with my assistant.”

 

Greg grinned, his `moi?` expression frustratingly charming. “What? I just asked Anthea to make sure we weren’t disturbed during our `meeting`, and to field any incoming calls too.”

 

“And to rearrange my schedule, apparently.”

 

Greg’s eyes gentled. He cupped Mycroft’s face in his hands, resting their foreheads together. “You’ve worked yourself ragged these last few weeks, Myc. You’ve earned a break.” He leaned in and took a light kiss, breathing against Mycroft’s lips. “So come home with me. Let me take care of you.”

 

Mycroft shivered, drinking in Greg’s scent, the warmth of his touch. “Was this a precursor of events to come?”

 

“Heh, could be. Mostly though, I’ve just missed you.”

 

“And I you.”

 

Greg smiled into the next kiss. “You’ll come?”

 

Mycroft sighed, conceding. “Yes.”

 

Honestly, there had never been a chance of him saying no.

 

Even with the embarrassment of leaving his office with wrinkled trousers, burning cheeks, and the knowing eyes of Anthea observing their walk of shame, Greg effortlessly pulled him along with the same inexorable magnetism that he always had. Standing in the elevator, watching the numbers tick by with Greg’s arm folded around his waist, Mycroft marveled at what they had grown into, at what they were growing into.

 

Unpredictable, often messy, and wonderful.

 

And, yes, it did end up being a brilliant weekend.

**Author's Note:**

> Another one that took way longer than it should have, but was great fun. Thanks for reading!


End file.
